Jag
This dive bar must be the place where we all go to shed our demons. Wasn’t too long ago I sat here with Layla nursing her hurt while stifling my own. I snort as I take a seat. Not too long ago, hell, it’s been three and a half years. Life was great the way it was going until it wasn’t.
“What can I get ya?”
I look up to a familiar face and find myself attempting a grin.
“Sunni? You work here?”
“No, just thought I’d play dress up and sneak behind the bar.”
I shake my head at her dry sense of humor. “Knew you were a wild cat behind your waitress uniform.”
“Jackass.” She tosses a cocktail napkin toward me. It flutters until it lands on the worn bar top. “What’s your poison?”
“Tequila. The whole bottle.”
“Let’s start off with a couple of shots.” She winks at me and is off.
“Top shelf,” I holler after her.
She waves me off and goes about her business. My spine relaxes after a day from hell in the gym. Seems I’ve been beating myself up more than anything else. Can’t connect a fucking upper hook to save my life.
I glance around, seeing no one I know, then focus my gaze behind the bar. Sunni, the sweet waitress from my favorite diner, sways as she pours my shots. Shit, I look forward to seeing her every night I don’t feel like cooking. She’s the perfect amount of everything. Doesn’t talk too much, doesn’t act star struck around me, and knows when I want to be left the hell alone. Doesn’t hurt she’s downright fucking gorgeous in a simple man’s type of way.
Caramel curls sway along her back, leading down to her sweet juicy ass. She’s not in her waitress uniform tonight. I get a sense this is more the real Sunni. She’s so the cut-off jean shorts, tight tank, and flip-flops type of girl. Her persona is carefree and outgoing, but the darkness that lingers in her brilliant blue eyes tells me otherwise. My dick stirs to life watching her work behind the bar.
I sneak my hand down the front of my gym pants and give it a good squeeze. I’ve never had this reaction to Sunni. It’s no secret I’m a manwhore to the core. But with her, it’s been more of a friend relationship, the listening ear that doesn’t judge when I need one. I bite down on my bottom lip, squeezing the base of my cock one more time before pulling my hand out. Jesus, this tequila better do the trick.
“Here you go, Rocky.” Sunni grins at me as she slides the shots over.
I shake my head. “I’ve told you I don’t box.”
“Potato, potahto.” She waves her hand. “It’s all the same in my book.”
I jerk my chin. “You have no idea.”
The first shot goes down with a hissing burn. I refuse to chase it with anything and slam the second. The magic liquid loosens up the taut knot in the middle of my spine.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, slamming down the shot glass.
Sunni quirks up an eyebrow. “Longer than the diner.”
“Damn.” I slink back in the barstool and slide over the shot glasses.
“You know what that tells me, Rocky?” Sunni rests her elbows on the bar and leans in.
Her ample cleavage spills out the top of her tight tank, her soft curls float over her shoulders, and a coconut scent punches me straight in the gut. I blink a few times, confused as fuck as to why I’ve never seen Sunni in this light. I know it’s not the tequila, at least not yet.
“What?” I indulge her question.
“That you are not a drinker and don’t belong here.” She reaches out, covering my hand with hers.
“You might be right.”
“Need to talk?” She squeezes my hand.
“That shit makes it worse. I’ll take a couple more shots.”
Sunni cringes but recovers quickly. “The customer is always right.”
Her words are stifled, letting me know she wants to say so much more but doesn’t. Just like the first time I study her sweet, plump ass as she pours the shots. This time she glides a longneck bottle of beer over the bar with the shots.
I lean forward in question. Sunni picks up on it.
“After these two, you are going to sip on a beer.”
“Really?” I chuckle. “Not in the right frame of mind to sip on anything tonight, baby doll.”